


What We've Lost

by moneychangeseverything



Series: Jazzwave Week 2020 [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Amputation, Canon-Typical Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Jazzwaveweek2020, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen, Sex Pollen-type dubcon, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tentacles, Well - Soundwave's TF:P datacables
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26991970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moneychangeseverything/pseuds/moneychangeseverything
Summary: His one good optic had caught on an extremely pointy charcoal pede, flecked with purple biolights. Soundwave. If there was one bot on this random planet that could find him, of course it would be Soundwave.
Relationships: Jazz/Soundwave (Transformers)
Series: Jazzwave Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969888
Comments: 8
Kudos: 78
Collections: Jazzwave Week 2020





	What We've Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains sex-pollen-type dubcon, a character who is fairly severely injured prior to the sex (including limb amputation) and tentacle sex. Please heed the tags!

Jazz was a fragging mess. 

It was his own fault for trying to break atmosphere without a ship, but. It wasn’t like the last few scraps of his ex-spacecraft would have helped, either. Stupid, but unavoidable. 

So here he was, slagged out in a crater on some random organic planet, hoping against hope that Prime had a half-decent comm specialist that could find his aft before the Decepticons did. Primus help him if it was just a bunch of frontliners - the closest thing they’d have to tech ops would be the damn medic. 

Not that it mattered - even if the only person on-planet was Prime himself, Jazz wasn’t going anywhere. His legs were basically melted puddles, his comms had shorted out, and more of his core code than he’d prefer had been completely corrupted. 

Oh, and one really top-tier side effect of that last part? He couldn’t seem to keep any of his panels closed. 

Heat - or the sensor-ghost of heat - was pounding through his lines; some kind of deeply-buried coding must have activated, because he’d never felt anything like this before. Instead of blinding pain and error messages from his broken frame, there was nothing but heavy, aching charge. His spike was out, his valve was so slick that it was dripping - even his mouth was half-open, wetly waiting for something to lick. 

It was embarrassing. Sure, most bots had seen it all before, but still. Jazz had a reputation as a cool, collected lover - not some kind of panting mess. 

Not that he’d be loving on anyone, either way! No. No sir, Jazz was going to sit here in the wreckage of his crash - actually, wreckage might be generous, it was mostly organic stuff from the local planet - and he was going to wait for rescue. 

Then he’d get to a medic, and they’d fix him right up, with those big, competent medic hands. Primus, those heavy digits, filled with sensors he could only dream about, filling up his valve. He was so empty, but a medic - Ratchet - Ratchet would know exactly how to make him feel all better. How to stretch out his calipers with that, yeah that huge spike, Ratchet definitely had a big spike, probably as big around as Jazz’s wrist. 

No - wait. That wasn’t what he should be thinking about. No, there was no need to think about and thick, dripping - was that the sound of an aircraft? Hmm. Jazz was still hoping for rescue, but unless Skyfire had made it all the way here, it was probably a ‘con. 

Maybe even the old Slagmaker, Megs himself? Jazz had heard he’d switched to an aerial alt a couple vorns ago. Weird choice - the ‘cons had more than enough fliers to go around, and the gun-alt was pretty useful tactically, but, who could say? Maybe he’d just needed to get away from Starscream. Either way, he was probably much bigger now. Big enough to pick Jazz’s half-melted frame with one arm and - slag. 

His one good optic had caught on an extremely pointy charcoal pede, flecked with purple biolights. Soundwave. If there was one bot on this random planet that could find him, of course it would be Soundwave. 

Why did it have to be the ‘con with the sexy full-face mask? The only ‘con that Jazz had fragged for personal reasons? What had he done to deserve this? 

The pede moved out of his frame of vision, only to reappear around the area where Jazz’s legs were supposed to be. Soundwave - very pointedly, for a mech without visible optics - looked at his exposed spike and dripping valve, and tilted his helm. 

“You have something to say?” Jazz tried to ask. The noise that came out of his vocalizer was - well. Not words, that was for sure. 

Soundwave seemed to get the message, though, flicking one sharply-bladed shoulder in a slight shrug. He didn’t seem phased by Jazz’s condition, but he clearly wasn’t just going to ignore it and take the Autobot back to base like a normal enemy hostage, either. 

Jazz shivered a little under the blank stare. Soundwave was relaxed, spindly hands loose by his sides; looking at the mech at his feet as if he had all the time in the world. Why didn’t he just - just get on with it? Couldn’t he see that Jazz was desperate, here? 

He sighed, opening his mouth wider to try to suck in a vent of cool air, and abruptly froze when he felt a touch against his cheek. He managed to roll his helm enough to see Soundwave’s data cables, coming up on the blind side of his visor to stroke over his face. The segmented appendages’ sharp manipulating ends were tucked closed; the sensation wasn’t unlike being touched by a large, blunt finger. 

Or maybe more like an extremely long, thin spike, he thought, as the cable slid between his lips. He couldn’t help licking at the smooth metal, picking up flicks of charge with his glossa. The cool length was perfect in his wet, empty mouth. He sucked a little, imagining that the sensation would somehow transfer down to his own throbbing array. 

Jazz rolled his hips and whined, hoping to direct Soundwave’s attention to the matter at hand. Or rather - not at hand, which was the problem. The surveillance mech didn’t seem to in any hurry, though, gently sliding a second cable into Jazz’s mouth alongside the first. He dropped his jaw, letting Soundwave start to rock the tentacles deeper into his intake. 

He gasped as the cables made their way into his throat; the stretch felt amazing, but it wasn’t doing anything for the empty ache in his valve. He spat static, more emphatically this time, and managed to raise one his crispy-fried arms to graze his abdominal plating - if Soundwave wasn’t going to touch his array, Jazz would do it himself. 

Half-glitched sensors threw fragments of error messages up on his visor as the Decepticon grabbed his wrist with another data-cable and pinned it violently to the dirt. Okay! They were taking this at Soundwave’s pace, then. Jazz watched as the darker mech knelt and placed a hand on what remained of his inner thigh, and decided that he was okay with that. 

He squirmed as the hot weight of Soundwave’s touch sat, unmoving, on his plating. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this desperate - and he couldn’t even fragging talk about it! Normally, filthy suggestions - and potentially some begging - would be pouring from his vocalizer. Sure, Soundwave wasn’t a big talker, but usually that left Jazz more room to fill the silence. 

He was a big fan of the way that the quiet mech’s head would move just slightly when he heard something especially shocking, or the way Jazz would sometimes feel just a flash of lust from the mech’s tightly-controlled field. Getting Soundwave’s composure to slip, even for a moment, was usually half the fun of their little encounters. Well - maybe a quarter of the fun, anyway. 

No, Jazz wasn’t sure he’d ever been quite this helpless. Captured, tortured, behind enemy lines? Sure. But at least he’d always had his processor to fall back on. Now, there were only a few thin slivers of ‘Jazz’ remaining in the pile of twisted scrap lying on the ground, begging to be fragged. He _was_ begging too - he might not be talking, but Soundwave knew him well enough to know that Jazz’s walls were beyond down. 

Soundwave looked his frame over for another breathless moment, then lifted his hand off Jazz’s thigh. Frag! Had he changed his mind after all? Jazz tried to fill his field with the sheer need thrumming through his lines. Please - please, he tried to communicate, don’t take me back to the ‘cons like this. Primus only knew what Megs would do with Jazz’s burnt-out frame and processor. The idea held a little dirty thrill, but with Soundwave kneeling right in front of him, Jazz knew whose spike he’d prefer. Besides, he couldn’t wait to get all the way back to base. Even if the silent mech just took the edge off - !

His mental pleading seemed to work. Soundwave set his hand, which had been lingering in the air, down and crawled forward. His lithe frame, lit with purple biolights like dark gems, was entirely too predatory. Jazz was torn between teasing him for taking lessons from Ravage, and moaning as his valve welled with lubricant. Yes, Primus yes! Soundwave’s thighs brushed his own - but instead of kneeing what was left of Jazz’s legs apart, the enigmatic mech kept going. 

Jazz’s visor glitched as Soundwave straddled his hips and snapped open his valve panel. Was he really going to - oh. Yes. That was an absolute yes. Jazz moaned static as Soundwave slowly sank down onto his aching spike. The mech’s valve was deliciously tight and surprisingly wet - did seeing Jazz panting and beat-up and desperate really turn him on that much? 

If it did, he wasn’t complaining - the slick heat felt incredible. Jazz urgently wanted to thrust up into that warmth, but between Soundwave’s not-inconsiderable weight and his own lack of legs, he couldn’t shift more than an inch or so. It was exquisite torture feeling Soundwave’s cables in his mouth and valve around his spike, without being able to do anything about it. Jazz whined, growing more desperate by the moment. 

He felt a subtle flicker of amusement from Soundwave, and whined again. The fragger was enjoying this! Teasing Jazz, using his spike like a toy, knowing all the while that the Autobot was barely keeping it together. He rocked a little harder, ignoring the protests from his system, and felt Soundwave’s valve ripple in response. He repeated the motion, circling his hips as much as he could to put pressure on the glowing node he could just see peeking out from between their frames. Primus, yes. That felt amazing. 

He suckled on the data cables in his mouth again, encouraging them deeper. The smell of the alien planet was almost completely covered by the hot musk and electricity coming from Soundwave’s frame. He tugged at the appendage pinning his wrist to the dirt, but there wasn’t any give - Soundwave would let him up when he chose to, or not at all. Jazz was surrounded, utterly mastered by the mech atop him, and he loved every moment of it. 

Soundwave’s neck arched as Jazz managed a purposeful buzz in his abdominal plating, and began riding the mech below him in earnest. Jazz tried to work his hips, but his pistons were completely fragged - he couldn’t keep up with the rhythm, but he couldn’t just stay still and let Soundwave take over completely either. His erratic movements kept throwing off the pace, knocking the deliciously climbing sensation off track again and again. Soundwave’s movements began to take on a distinctly frustrated air. 

Another flash of amusement disoriented him, and Jazz felt a sudden cold brush against his valve. What - Oh. Primus. Another data cable. And Soundwave was sliding it right into Jazz’s excessively lubricating valve. The length penetrated him deeply, easily - he’d been burning for something to fill him up for what felt like vorns. Another cable quickly joined the first, twining together for a thicker stretch. Jazz went still, barely able to process the competing sensations, and Soundwave smugly tilted his helm. 

Soundwave rose up on his knees, until the head of Jazz’s spike was just barely inside his valve and raised a hand off Jazz’s chassis to stroke his lips where they were stretched around the tentacles. The set of his pointed shoulders communicated his smirk more effective than most mech’s mouths. Jazz moaned. Primus, he always forgot how much he loved Soundwave’s attitude in the berth. The way the normally-silent mech became so expressive, so commanding - so damned sexy. Jazz wished he could flip them over and pound Soundwave’s valve until his biolights were flickering. 

Instead, Jazz was the one being pounded. Soundwave dropped down on his spike, roughly taking him to the hit, and Jazz nearly screamed. The cables in his valve twisted together, rocking against his nodes and driving his charge higher and higher. His vocalizer ached as it spat static, but Jazz couldn’t have kept silent for the Prime himself. Soundwave was done playing with him, and had started ruthlessly taking his pleasure - Jazz couldn’t do anything but hang on. 

Light streamed from his visor as Soundwave bounced on his spike, and light from the alien star glided his plating. Primus, he really was beautiful. Next time, Jazz would lay him out on a berth and lick each of those glowing biolights and intricate details, over and over until the silent mech was writhing. Right now, Jazz could barely hold on as ecstasy rose in his lines - the unrelenting rhythm of Soundwave’s valve around his spike, the cables all around and inside him, pinning him, filling him - ! 

The knot of pleasure in Jazz’s belly grew tighter and hotter, until he was nearly vibrating with need. Soundwave’s thighs were shaking, his movements growing more erratic. Charge was sparking between them almost constantly, now, electric blue arcs reflecting in the smooth glass of Soundwave’s visor. The silent mech ground himself against Jazz’s plating, circling his hips, and threw his helm back as he came. Jazz whined as calipers squeezed his spike, rippling from root to tip and screamed as the cables ground against his ceiling node. 

The moment stretched, endlessly, and Jazz arched his back and let go, falling apart. 

\--

When he came back to himself, Soundwave was stretched out in the dirt beside him. He turned his head, and they looked at each other for a moment, visor to visor. Their fans were still spinning, dumping heat, and the soft pings of cooling metal filled the air. 

Jazz felt the buzz of a short-range comm pass by, but his sensors were too far gone to parse it. A questioning glyph appeared on Soundwave’s screen, and Jazz shrugged in response. His sound system was shot; he couldn’t even produce binary beeping. If Soundwave wanted to talk, well - he’d need some serious medical care, first. 

Instead of getting up and dragging them both back to the Decepticon base for interrogation, though, the surveillance mech slipped one of his long, thin hands into Jazz’s open servo and lightly tangled their fingers together. That was - cute? Jazz wasn’t against a little post-coital romance, he supposed. He squeezed back, enjoying the way that Soundwave’s fingers were playing over his palm. 

Hang on. There was something - familiar about that. It almost felt like Soundwave was manipulating the energy field around his servos, pulsing in deliberate patterns. Ah - of course. Chirolinguistics. It had been vorns since Jazz had last tried to speak hand. He felt like a bit of an idiot, but his processor was still swimming from damage reports, so. He’d cut himself some slack, this once. 

Soundwave was pressing a simple, repeating pattern: //query: status?//

Well - Jazz was inferring the colon. It wasn’t actually possible to use Soundwave’s characteristic syntax when speaking hand. But the spy-bot was sure giving it a try, and Jazz was willing to recognize the effort. 

//I’m fine, Sounders. You?// 

//affirmative// 

Soundwave pulled away from Jazz, getting to his feet. Another comms signal passed through the air, but this one had a slightly different flavour. A distress beacon? Yeah, but - even weirder - it was an Autobot distress beacon. Jazz cocked his head at Soundwave, questioning. The silent mech filled his EM field with a deliberate pulse of - was that reassurance? Or comfort? Something undeniably warm, anyway. Then he transformed and took off. 

Jazz lay in the dirt, dazed with affection, and watched Soundwave fly away.

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to the folks who read this over and helped me with the tags!!  
> All feedback is appreciated!  
> You can also find me at moneychanges_ev on twitter.


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